It's the same every time. I wake but I'm not sure that I've woken; I hover between states of consciousness. Wrapped in my blankets, savoring warmth, I hear a familiar sound of day and not of morning, the din of the labor of dozens. My eyes open just a bit and I find I'm the fourth wall. Above me, a camera is poised on a fisher dolly, tilt plate set aloft, gear head locked. Beside me, a ballast hums and a lamp head radiates white heat. Grip gear clutters the corners of my bedroom and technicians scurry about the business of making a movie.
While this is the standard template for my workday, it's decidedly awkward in my bedroom and all I can ever think to say is “Where's the UPM? I didn't sign a location release.”
I've had this dream at least once a month for the whole of my professional life. I think that it's the moviemaker's equivalent of the naked to school dream, which coincidentally, I've never had.
This week my recurring nightmare came true. In an attempt to conserve funds, the show that I am on for the next ten weeks has rented houses in which the upstairs serve as quarters for the out of town crew and the ground levels serve as sets. Yesterday we used my house. While we didn't actually shoot in my bedroom I did roll out of bed to find locations and art department prepping my temporary home for photography.
Maybe this will cure me of my nightmare.